Lifetime Warranty
by LizardBot
Summary: By now the medication had begun to wear off, and there was no way to ignore the ache in her leg, or the burn in her side. But that didn't even compare to the sudden constricting pain that seized her chest at her revelation. Sequel to Gray Matters.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Lifetime Warranty**  
Category:** Leverage**  
Rating:** PG13**  
Characters/Pairings: **Parker/Hardison**  
Genre:** Hurt/Comfort/Romance/Friendship**  
Summary: **By now the medication had begun to wear off, and there was no way to ignore the ache in her leg, or the burn in her side. But that didn't even compare to the sudden constricting pain that seized her chest at her revelation. Sequel to Gray Matters.

Prologue

It was early when she stumbled through the hospital doors and into the not-quite-busy streets of downtown Boston. The sun had just risen, she could tell from the blue-blue-skies and the winking sun on the horizon. And it was cold, a chill setting in as she stepped out into the crisp September morning.

So she shivered as she fled from the hospital entrance, and maybe her teeth chattered a little, but her pace didn't slow any, because now that the fall air had cut through her morphine-induced haze, she was starting to panic just a little. The first thing she did was try to figure out where the _hell_ she was, because the last thing she remembered was walking out of McRory's in a huff.

_Why?_ She wondered, came up empty.

And then suddenly she needed to find a newspaper, needed to know if it was still Saturday, what the date was. Her pace picked up, though her legs felt good and heavy as the cold set in. She walked three blocks without finding a stand, but the next man she passed had a paper tucked under his arm, and she took it from him without bothering to be sly about it. She ignored him when she cried out in surprise and anger, too focused on the print at the top right corner of the page.

Friday—she couldn't believe it, six days had passed since she'd stormed out of the bar. _Six days_, and-and…she stuffed the paper back in the business man's face so that he would stop complaining (loudly) to whoever was on the other end of his phone call about some strange woman who was stealing from him. While any other day she would have threatened him with bodily harm for insulting her, right now she just wanted him to stop harassing her. (Couldn't he see that she was busy being upset here? And, really, his paper was going to be the last thing he missed when he went to buy that morning coffee, anyway.)

Six days.

It ran through her head, over and over again.

Six days. Six days. Six days. Six days. _Six days_?

Parker recalled the feeling of dread that had washed over her when she'd opened her eyes to find herself in the hospital; to find herself _alone_ in the hospital. She hadn't exactly been altogether lucid when she'd scanned the room but, looking back, it hadn't looked as if anyone had even been there. According to the local paper, she had just spent the better part of a week unconscious in a really uncomfortable bed, and no one on the team had even bothered to drop by to make sure she was still alive.

Before she knew it, she was sinking down onto a stone bench as she tried to process. By now the medication had begun to wear off, and there was no way to ignore the ache in her leg, or the burn (a feeling that she had long ago come to associate with stitches) in her side. But that didn't even compare to the sudden constricting pain that seized her chest at her revelation.

During the few times that Parker had injured herself badly enough to end up in a hospital, she had always prayed that no one would come after and find her. It wasn't until now that she wished that someone _had_ come looking. She would never admit to anyone but herself just how much it broke her heart that they hadn't.

But she understood—after all, who wanted to work with a crazy (_broken, worthless, lost_) thief? Who would ever want to _love _someone like her? So yes, Parker understood. Just like she understood why daddy hit mommy; like she understood why she'd lost Frank; like she understood that the bruises on her arms and the sting in her cheek was for her own good; like she understood how much she'd earned those two nights in the closet; _just like_ she understood why she couldn't meet Archie's family.

Except she didn't understand—she didn't understand at all.

**Notes:** I must be on a role or something, because I don't remember ever posting this much back when I first started off. So this was going to be a Oneshot, but I decided to make it a multi-chapter story.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One

Hardison didn't consider himself a violent man. He had never gotten angry enough to punch a wall, and he certainly wasn't the kind of guy that got in knock-down-drag-out fights with others when he was angry. He had always been the scrawny geek that got beat up on the school yard for his lunch money. And he'd never so much as fought back. But then, Parker had always brought out the best and worst in him.

Right now, it just happened to be the worst. Depending on who you asked.

He suspected that, had he not been so very determined to pound Dr. Grant's face in until it was unrecognizable, Eliot would have found the circumstances amusing. Perhaps he would have even been laughing at the irony of the situation, instead of spending the last minute and a half trying to bodily haul Hardison off the man who had slammed his SUV into Parker's tiny compact.

"I'm sorry!" insisted the small man. He was dressed in a polo and a sweater-vest, a pair of giant glasses perched on his nose, and Eliot had decided that he was the biggest dork he'd ever met (and that included _Hardison_). He had a smear of blood running down the front of his vest, but it was hardly visible against the dark material, and Eliot noted that it must have come from the gash on his forehead. "It was an accident! I didn't even see her until she was right in front of me!" And then, much to _everyone's_ embarrassment, he started sobbing.

"Uuuh," went Hardison in light of this awkward situation, momentarily distracted from his new-found violent streak.

Eliot was just about to say something that might have been "Grow a pair," when a crash sounded from in the direction of what he assumed was the kitchen. All three of them froze; Grant didn't so much as sniffle as the sound of ceramic on tile resounded in the otherwise quiet house.

"You got someone in here with you?" Eliot said, calm and quiet, and very tense. Grant shook his head stiffly, quite tense himself. Eliot was already moving towards the kitchen door. "Stay with the doctor," he told Hardison, all the while wondering at his own logic. He hoped that the techie wouldn't beat the ever loving hell out of the small man while he went to check things out, but if he did then it couldn't be helped. After all, it wasn't like he could stay behind while Hardison went to check it out. And even if the doc _did_ get beat up, well, hopefully that'd teach him not to crash into other cars and then drive away.

Hardison, for his part, was feeling rather conflicted. He was still pissed that Grant had put Parker in the hospital, but it had clearly been an accident. The guy had been scared and in shock; could Hardison really fault him for that? Sure, beating the guy up would feel good (_really good_), but in the end it wouldn't exactly solve anything—Parker would still be in the hospital, in a coma, unmoving, unresponsive, quiet, inactive…

Alec abruptly cut himself off, feeling his anger spike the more he thought about it. Beating Grant to kingdom come wouldn't solve anything, but _damn_ if it wouldn't make him feel better.

So immersed in his mental debate was Hardison, that he didn't notice the sudden change in the doctor's over-all disposition; his posture was straighter, his face clear of tears, and his expression smug. Hardison was also somewhat oblivious to the gun that Grant was sneaking out of his waistband. At least, right up until a reflective flash of silver caught him in the corner of the eye, and his gaze automatically sought out the source of irritation. His first instinct was to freeze, because that's what people usually do when they're being held at gunpoint. His second instinct was to _run_, because this guy looked damn serious, and maybe running was a little cowardly, but it hadn't failed him yet.

"Hardison!" came Eliot's hurried and knowing voice, echoing in the kitchen. It was a warning for what the hacker had already found out.

Alec dived to the side then, just as the good doctor fired, and the bullet only grazed his shoulder rather than burying itself between his eyes. He yelped (a very _manly_ yelp) in surprise and pain, scrambling back to his feet as he darted out of the entry way and down the hall. Shots followed him, missing his head and instead imbedding in the hallway wall as he ran passed. In his panic, he accidentally stepped on the loose laces of his converse and lurched forward as he was struck with a sudden unease at the feeling of weightlessness. The entire time he was falling, he was mentally cursing himself for being too lazy to re-tie his shoes. His first thoughts when he hit the ground were about how angry he knew Nana was going to be; she'd always snapped at him when he forgot to properly tie his shoes laces, and he had no doubt that she was going to be pissed if she ever found out about _how_ he died, and for what reasons.

Hardison couldn't bring himself to look back at the footsteps approached. The atmosphere shifted to accommodate another body as someone walked towards him, and he said his prayers as he heard a click that sounded suspiciously like someone drawing back the hammer on a gun.

**Note:** Been a while, hasn't it? I got a little caught up with homework, but I finished my final project for History today, so I have the week off. After I finished homework earlier, I thought to myself, "Red," because I talk to myself, "you should get online and write that second of chapter of LW that you've been avoiding." And then I went, "You know what, Red," because I answer myself when I talk to myself, "that sounds like a perfect idea."

So I did, and now you guys have a shiny new chapter of LW.

**About the Chapter:** A short dose of Hacker/Hitter teamwork, with a side of Hardison wumpage, just 'cause I'm into that kind of kink. Also, I know what you're thinking, but that's not Eliot, who has just disarmed Doctor Badass (as I have hence forth dubbed him), and coming to tell Hardison to get his ass up off the floor. Nope, that's the bad guy, about to do some bad stuff.

**Also:** I almost continued, but decided to cut it off there, 'cause I'm a bitch, and I enjoy making readers suffer with cliff hangers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Do not own.

Chapter Two

There was nothing that Parker hated more than the hazy feeling of being caught between consciousness and sleep; the small moments before wakefulness where she could _hear_ everything, but simply couldn't bring herself to open her eyes out of sheer exhaustion.

To her right, something was beeping incessantly in her ear, constant and _very_ annoying, and the more she became aware of it, the louder and quicker it came. Above her, static came in short bursts and sporadically gave way to a deep, familiar voice.

"In other news…police are no closer to finding the hit-and-run driver who caused the death of one person and sent two to the hospital with injuries last night…"

Everything suddenly came back to her in a flash; the crash, the pain, and the very distinct flood of blue and red as the police arrived, an ambulance not far behind.

What was her name?

"_Al-Alice White."_

Was there anyone they could call? Nate? How could they get a hold of him? Did she see who did this?

The last question had really set her heart pumping, just as it did now.

"_We're losing her!"_

The beeping to her right went wild, and the darkness around her flashed white, before abruptly going dark once more.

"Parker? Oh my God, what's going on? Someone, help!"

Sophie?

"_Did you see who did this?"_

Oh yes, she'd seen them alright; she knew exactly who'd done this.

For a brief moment, her eyes opened, and she took in the tiled ceiling of her hospital room.

"_You would be nothing without me! _Nothing!_"_

Then the darkness was all that she knew.

"_Panic…blood pressure…coma."_

These were the words that the doctor had used to explain the sudden instability in Parker's condition thirty minutes earlier; these were the only words that had registered for Nathan Ford, as everything else flew over his head.

"_Parker? Oh my God, what's going on? Someone, help!"_

He'd left for a few minutes to get some air, and had come back just in time to hear Sophie's panicked shouts. Standing in the doorway, as doctors and nurses shoved past him to reach Parker—God, he shuddered just thinking about it. The fading condition of his strangest team member was a reflection Sam's weakened state just before he'd—and then, to see them take the paddles to Parker was like reliving that moment, all those years ago.

"_NO!"_

When he had first stepped into the hospital, he had half expected Parker to pop into the waiting room, grinning and twirling a pair of handcuffs around her finger as she hurried towards him. "You left the car on, right?" she would've said, as security raced down the hall towards them. _That_ would have been a normal scenario, the predictable outcome of something like this. But then, when had Parker ever been predictable? Of course, she would prove him wrong. He should have known that from the moment he picked up that damn phone. But he wouldn't have expected this; _never this_, he thought numbly, fingers pressing at the headache that was forming between his temples.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he reached for it immediately, answering without a thought. He'd automatically assumed that it was the guys who, now that he thought about it, had been gone for quite a while. He was wrong, of course. When he answered the phone, it was neither Eliot nor Hardison on the other end.

_"Hello Mr. Ford,"_ said a smooth voice.

Nate felt his headache more acutely, now. He should have expected a call from this particular person. "Is there something I can help you with, Archie?"

_"I think you know why I've called, Nate."_

Sophie came gliding down the hall about five minutes later, a cup of coffee in each of her hands as she headed straight for Nathan, who was just finishing up his call. About ten minutes earlier, shortly after the doctor had explained Parker's condition, she had left the waiting room, claiming that all she needed was a little air. But, judging by the redness of her eyes and the tear tracks on her cheeks, Nate knew that she had probably just spent a good six minutes sobbing in a bathroom stall, rather than standing in line at a Starbucks. She cleared her throat before she spoke, but her voice still sounded slightly choked as she asked, "Was that the boys?"

"No," Nate grunted, as he took the coffee from her, sounding frustrated. However, her question did remind him of the absence of their two other teammates. It had been over two hours since they'd checked in with him, and by now he would have at least expected a phone call, if nothing else. They especially would have called if they'd caught the bastard who'd done this, or had at least found a lead. But he hadn't heard anything from them, and that was really starting to worry him.

"Nate…" she whispered, and he cut across her by saying, "I know."

For the second time that night, Nate's phone buzzed, and he held it up so that Sophie could also see the caller I.D. They looked to each other at the same time. "Hardison," the two said in unison, and Nate hit the call button, holding the phone to his ear. "Where are you?"

**Note:** Short, I know; most of these chapters have been, but these scenes have been designed to occur in a certain order, yadda, yadda, yadda, you get the idea. Another cliff-hanger. The boys will be back in the next chapter, with explanations all around. More or less.

_**Italics:**_ Flashback dialogue, _emphasis_, and phone calls. Confusing, I know.

**About Archie:** You guys might recall the last paragraph in the Prologue. That part of the chapter was written long before LW was a blip on my creative radar, and it also gave me the idea to bring up Archie in this chapter. He won't be making an appearance in this story, but he _might_ show up in a related oneshot that I _might_ be working on (winkwink), and the rest of his conversation will pop up there, if not later in this story.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Three

Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that Eliot was probably still in the kitchen, fighting off whoever had jumped him when he'd gone to investigate the strange noises that had set this entire scenario off. In fact, if he tried to concentrate—tried to shove past his panic—Hardison might even be able to pick up on the sounds of the scuffle that was going on in the other part of the house. But, at that point, all he could really hear was the thumpthumpthumping of his own heart, as it pounded a tattoo into his chest, followed by the quiet click of the gun above him.

A lot of things crossed Hardison's mind at that point. Like, what the hell was taking Eliot so long, and had he left the stove on (yes, he had; not that it mattered much at this point), also, Nana was going to be pissed, not to mention Nate. Oh yeah, and he was totally going to miss the new episode of Doctor Who. Mostly, though, his thoughts were of Parker; mostly, his thoughts were of how badly he'd _failed_ Parker. He'd had the chance to take this bastard _down_, and instead he'd let himself be fooled by some iffy acting. (Okay, some great acting.)

If they could trade places; if it was him in that hospital bed, and Parker hunting this man down, he knew that she wouldn't have hesitated. If Parker had been in his place, the good doctor wouldn't be breathing anymore. Hardison hated himself a little bit for that hesitance, but part of him knew that, even if he'd had the chance, even if he hadn't been fooled, he still wouldn't have had it in him to hurt someone else, not in the way that he wanted to. He had hurt people, certainly, through the many crimes he'd committed over the years (identity theft, fraud, hacking the CIA database), but never in the physical sense—although there was that one time when he'd hit that guy, but he'd totally beat up a Priest!—never in the same way that Eliot had; he'd never _killed_ someone. And, to be honest, he wasn't sure if that made him brave or cowardly. But he felt ashamed, all the same, for not avenging Parker when he had the chance, no matter how clichéd that seemed.

When the man standing over him _laughed_ (well, it was more of a chuckle), Hardison expected the next words to come out of his mouth to be gloating and arrogant, and they were. The doctor was both very smug and taunting when he spoke; he was also very bitter.

"I'm going to let you live, Alec Hardison," he hissed, and Hardison could tell by the volume that his attacker was probably leaning towards him as he spoke. The use of his name also told him that this imposter knew far more about Alec than he'd originally let on. "Think of this as a gift, from me to you; to the _better man_," and here he let out a barking laugh, as he flicked the hammer back into place.

Hardison wasn't fooled; he'd faced too many villains like this one to be tricked into thinking that he was even slightly safe in this man's presence. He was right, of course, because as soon as "Dr. Grant" had finished speaking, a heavy foot came down on Alec's injured shoulder, pressing him into the well-kept carpet in the hall and sending pain shooting through his arm and shoulder, and he let out a keening cry in response, fingers digging into the carpet as his vision darkened around the edges.

The doctor knelt down at Hardison's side, still applying pressure to the Hacker's shoulder, as the younger man squirmed beneath him.

"Do me a favor, Mr. Hardison," it wasn't a request, "tell Parker that Grant says 'hi'." The painful pressure at his shoulder disappeared, then, but Hardison just couldn't find it in himself to work up the strength to look for _Grant_. Instead, he silently lay against the wall, trying to get his breath back, and only vaguely aware of the carpet against his cheek, growing sticky and wet with every second. It felt like hours, but he knew that only moments had passed when strong hands grasped his arms. The fingers that had curled around his right bicep immediately disappeared when a groan passed his lips, a sound so odd and foreign that it almost didn't register that it had come from his mouth.

Eliot hovered over him, hissing a blue streak like an angry snake, coiled and ready to strike. The Hitter, of course, wasn't looking particularly good himself. Several cuts littered his face, the one above his left eyebrow practically pouring blood into his eye, and his left arm was moving a little slower than his right, but otherwise it didn't seem to be hindering him. He smacked Hardison on the cheek a few times, and Alec felt the warmth from it like the sun on his face; he was just that cold. "Damn," said the Hitter, and then something about "…lost too much blood."

(And _too much_ was a funny way to put it, because could you lose too little blood—and, in that case, was there an amount that was just right?)

"'S about time," Hardison slurred as he was pulled to his feet, perhaps with a little more force than was strictly necessary. The world around him lurched violently, spinning a few times, before everything righted.

"Well excuse me if I was a little busy with the five armed idiots in the kitchen," Eliot snapped irritably, not at all in the mood for Hardison's lip. The idiots that he was referring to would probably be awake soon, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to deal with all of them _and_ a loopy Hacker at the same time. Of course, Eliot wasn't the type that ran away from a fight, but this was more of a _tactical retreat_. "C'mon," he grunted, half guiding, half dragging the taller man towards the door.

"At least you didn't have to deal with _Grant_," said Alec, sounding angry and pained and a little more lucid.

Eliot didn't really have anything to say to that, so instead he just hauled his teammate outside, checking the area for any leery activity as he went, and tossed Hardison into the passenger seat of his truck. There was, of course, the question of why the Hacker was still alive. Not that Eliot would have preferred the alternative, but as far as he could tell, the younger man had been completely at Grant's mercy; why hadn't he finished Hardison off? In any case, there was a good chance that he might have done just that without even trying.

Eliot had, at first, thought that the bullet had merely grazed Hardison's shoulder, but given how much he was bleeding, it looked as though the doctor had hit his mark. "Shit," he grumbled, pulling off his flannel over shirt and pressing it to the wound hard enough to make his patient yelp. "Hold this here," he commanded, pulling out of the drive way at the same time as he fumbled along the seat for a mobile phone. His was dead, so instead he used Hardison's to dial Nate's number.

Cora was waiting for them at the back entrance when they reached McRory's. Nate had, apparently, called ahead for them, and judging by the way that the young bartender had set up the back room it was obvious that this wasn't the first time she'd had to deal with something like this. As soon as they passed through the doorway, Cora had Hardison across the room and out of his jacket. She pressed him down onto the poker table, forcing him to sit still as she pulled his shirt down.

Hardison looked alarmed. "Whoa, whoa!" he said, "Damn girl, at least buy me a drink first!" he joked feebly, not quite having the energy for his usual jesting.

In any case, Cora didn't look at all amused by his joke, though she did seem rather relieved as she took in the state of his wound. "Through and through," she told him with a sigh, prodding at the bullet hole so that Hardison tensed and hissed. "It'll need stitches, but at least I won't have to dig the bullet out."

"Right," the dark-skinned man agreed, cringing as Cora released his shirt, and it slid back up, brushing against the wound. "So, tell me again why I'm not going to the hospital for this?"

"Because we've been hanging around the hospital for four days already; if you go back, someone is going to recognize you. So, unless you've got a good excuse for the hole in your shoulder, you're going to sit here and let Cora patch you up," Nate informed him as he stepped into the room, striding towards the pair at the table. He glanced at the red-head and asked, "Do you have everything you need?"

Cora looked thoughtful for a moment, as she glanced around the room. "There's some Advil on the bar, and I'm sure I can find a needle and some thread around here _somewhere_," she replied, ignoring the alarmed look that spread across Hardison's face, as the back door swung open once more, and Eliot entered.

He lugged a heavy looking red duffel across the room and dropped it onto the table next to Hardison, yanking the zipper open to reveal a years-worth of medical supplies. The others looked at him in askance, and he shrugged.

"What? I used to date a paramedic, okay?" he grumbled, rummaging through the contents of the bag until he found what he was looking for; an over-sized needle and a bottle of something that would no doubt numb his wound.

"Ah, hell no," Hardison said vehemently, looking a little green.

"Eliot," Nate chided, not in the mood for his pranks, and the Hitter rolled his eyes at him, reaching back into the bag for a proper-sized needle.

While the Hacker was given the appropriate antibiotics for his make-shift surgery, he eyed the team leader. "Is Soph still at the hospital with Parker?" he asked curiously, worried for the state of both women.

Nate nodded in confirmation, not looking particularly enthusiastic about the subject.

"Any change?" Eliot asked as he passed a few medical supplies to Cora, who was doing her best to keep out of the way.

"We'll talk about it when we get back to the hospital," said the Mastermind with an inward cringe, as he thought back to the events of the past day with much trepidation. "Now, tell me what happened."

Hardison gritted his teeth as he recalled their visit to the doctor's house, his stomach rolling at the memory of that psychopath's twisted grin. Eliot and Nate were watching him expectantly, and he forced himself to take a deep breath, ignoring the uncomfortable tug and pull of Cora's careful stitching. He began, "To start off, I'm pretty sure that only thing we got right about that psycho was his name.

"He called himself Grant."

**Note:** Sorry about the wait, blah, blah, blah, you get the idea. Anyway, we're about halfway through at this point; 2 or 3 more chapters to go before the end of the story.


	5. Chapter 5

Four

"Are you trying to say that he knows Parker?" Nate asked from where he stood opposite of Hardison, who was still feeling a bit loopy from the combination of blood-loss and painkillers. Eliot had already relayed his part of the story (a conversation with Grant, the ambush in the kitchen, finding Hardison), and now they'd moved onto the Hacker's.

"Trying?" the young man just about slurred. "No, I'm _saying_ that this guy knows her," he replied, confirming, for the first time, Nate's suspicions that Parker's crash was more than just an accident. _"Tell Parker that Grant says 'hi',"_ Hardison explained, repeating the smug message that the conman had given him. This not-doctor Grant had all but confessed to his participation in the crash and, in the process, had admitted that he knew Parker was alive, albeit unwell, at the local hospital. It was with an unsettling turn of his stomach that Nate realized that he'd left Sophie and Parker behind, completely unprotected. He was almost tempted to rush back to the hospital himself but (with motives that weren't entirely selfless), decided that Eliot was clearly the better option instead. Besides, he thought, as he turned to face the resident Hacker, he still had quite a few questions that needed answering. "Eliot," he said over his shoulder, hands fisted tight in the folds of his elbows.

"Yeah," said the man in question, already shrugging on the jacket in preparation to step out into the chilly autumn air, "I'm goin'."

Nate stared hard at the young man in front of him. "You should have told me about this in the first place," he hissed as he began to pace. "Do you have any idea the kind of danger Sophie and Sa…_Parker_ could be in right now?" he growled, his slip up frustrating him all the more. Get a grip, he told himself, but the parallels were just too obvious, and he kept flashing back to _that moment_. It was all that he saw when he looked into Parker's room, heard those stupid machines whir and beep; his son's pale and fragile body, just barely clinging to life by the skin of his teeth, and it made Nate's chest constrict and ache every time he looked at the second-youngest member of his team and noted the similarities. *

"I know, okay?" Hardison said sharply, the conversation quite effectively rallying him back into lucidity. He was feeling bad enough about his apparent failure without Nate digging salt into the wounds. He flexed his shoulder a little, testing the bullet wound as Cora packed up her medical bag.

"While you two work this out, I'm going to grab some things for Sophie and Parker. They have overnight bags upstairs, right?" the red-head asked Nate, who offered a curt nod in reply. She didn't even wait for his confirmation before she headed for the door, eager to be as far away from this confrontation as possible.

The Mastermind opened his mouth as soon as the door shut behind the young woman, but Hardison didn't even let him get a word out. "Look, I get it, okay? I messed up. If I'd stopped Grant, if I'd just stopped her from storming out…" he cut himself off, choking up a little. The guilt he was feeling colored his face with a frown and watery eyes, and silence filled the room as Nate abruptly stopped pacing as he realized, quite suddenly, how harsh he was being with the Hacker. What had happened to Parker was in no way Hardison's fault. As much as he hated to admit it, it was the climber's resemblance to his late son that was really getting to his head.

Heaving a deep sigh, Nate ran a hand through his dark curls as he settled down in a stray chair. "This…wasn't your fault, Hardison. Any one of us could have stopped her from leaving; could have just…apologized for giving her up to Sophie." As if that in itself wasn't bad enough to begin with (and God help him if he ever even _hinted_ at something like that in the Grifter's presence). "I'm sorry for blaming you, it's just that…"

"Yeah," Alec agreed, as if knowing what the team leader was going to say. "You're not exactly being very subtle, boss-man." The young man considered offering some poor platitudes and crappy apologies and, "I understand," except that Hardison didn't actually understand what Nate was going through; something that he was fairly thankful for. He never wanted to experience Nate's loss, especially if it meant losing Parker to Grant, who was (let's face it) bat shit crazy. He opened his mouth to say more, but the shrill ring of Nate's phone broke the silence before he could get a word out.

"It's Eliot," was all the older man said, before he answered. "What is it?" he asked, hearing the crackle of the radio in the background, a news report filtering in over the speakers in the Hitter's truck.

"_Check the news,"_ was Eliot's gruff reply, and Nate immediately hurried through the doors that led into the bar, Hardison on his heels. There weren't very many customers around, as it was nearing the morning hours, but those who still lingered grumbled and groaned when Nate reached up and changed the channel to the local news. A female news anchor was reporting, staring resolutely into the camera as she stood in front of a familiar warehouse, which was lit up orange and yellow in a blaze of beautiful flames.

Hardison shifted in surprise just behind him, oblivious to the many eyes that were drawn to the stick wound in his shoulder. He leaned forward to grip the bar for a little stability, head swimming for a whole new reason as his eyes stuck on the television screen. "That's…"

The phone glued to Nate's ear buzzed as Sophie caught onto call waiting.

"_Two other fires have been reported in other parts of town, all as a result of explosions. One of the locations was a comic book shop that was, thankfully, closed down for the night. The other was a vacated loft, but several injuries were reported. Authorities aren't sure of the intent behind the explosions, as no one was killed, but they suspect that it might be the work of an arsonist or, God forbid, a terrorist…"_

Nate glanced back at Hardison as the young man asked, "The loft—is that…?"

"Parker's new place? Yes," he replied, tossing the remote to the bartender, before he led his teammate towards the stairs, rather than the back room. They nearly ran into Cora on the stairs, who offered to put the bags in Nate's car, and looked decidedly relieved to see that the two criminals were no longer fighting.

"You knew." It wasn't a question. "All this time, and she didn't even tell me that she'd moved." His chest ached a little bit at the thought that his almost-girlfriend still didn't trust him enough to let him know where she lived.

"_Hardison_," Nate replied, and he sounded exhausted at the very idea that he was even having this conversation. "She didn't tell us, either. The only reason that we know is because we went out of our way to find out."

"We?" and, yes, that was disbelief coloring his tone. "Who else knows?"

Eliot grumbled over the phone, offering a vocal confirmation of his participation in Nate's little scheme to discover the thief's current living arrangement, and it suddenly occurred to the Mastermind that he should probably contact Sophie and calm her down; no doubt she was panicking over whatever she'd seen on the news.

"Eliot, get to the hospital, stay there until I get over there, and, uh, tell Sophie to relax," he told the Hitter, who immediately began to voice his objection.

"Wait a minute…" Nate hung up before the southerner could finish his sentence, and pushed open the door to his apartment, heading straight over to the tech equipment. He gathered the ear buds from off the electronic dashboard, and stuffed two in his pocket, before placing one in his ear, and handing the last to Hardison. "Start your toys up," he advised the Hacker, gesturing to the big screen that hung on the far wall, across from the couch. While Hardison did that, Nate headed for the door.

"Wait, whoa, Nate," Hardison said in dismay, hurriedly trailing after the other man.

"No," the Mastermind said immediately. "You need to stay here and do…what you do." When the Hacker tried to object, Nate cut him off, just as he had with Eliot. "Alec, if we're going to find out what's going on, I'm going to need you here to guide us," he said firmly.

Hardison looked angry, like he could see the logic in Nate's request, but he still wanted to argue. "Okay," he replied simply, stalking back over to the dashboard without so much as a "goodbye," while his boss headed out the door.

By the time Eliot arrived at the hospital, Sophie was basically simmering in her rage. Nate had not picked up or returned her calls, and (if she had anything to say about it) he would not be living long enough to regret his actions. When Eliot stepped through the rotating doors at the front entrance, the first words out of Sophie's mouth were, "_Where_ is _he_?" and for a brief moment, the Hitter saw his life flash before his eyes. Of course, then he remembered that he had taken down people three times Sophie's size, and that there was actually very little this woman could do to hurt him (much).

"Uh, he said to relax, and, um, that he'd be by soon to talk to you," he said quickly, before effectively distracting her with a duffle bag full of her crap from the apartment. "I'm just gonna…take this stuff up to Parker's room." The actress didn't have anything to say to that. Instead, she planted herself on one of the uncomfortable lobby chairs and waited.

Eliot headed straight up to the thief's room, and he tensed at the sight that greeted him.

It took Nate another fifteen minutes to reach the hospital, and his immediate reply upon facing down a furious Sophie was, "We'll talk about this in the car."

"You are in soooo much trouble," she said stiffly, angrily, and followed him closely to the elevator, dragging her bag along.

"I know, I'm sorry," the brainiac replied, leaning back against the wall of the elevator as he let the last few days catch up with him. He reached for Sophie, tugging her into his side in a hug that she was quick to return, and he pressed his lips to her forehead. Her stiff posture relaxed into his side, sensing his need for comfort, but she didn't give him long to relax. So, when she stepped away from the circle of his arms, her expression was one that demanded answers. "I promise we'll talk soon, but first I need to get this ear bud to Eliot, so that we can keep in contact."

"Keep in contact?" the Grifter inquired. "Where, exactly, are we going?"

Nate pushed away from the wall of the elevator as the doors slid open. "We are going to go do what we do best," he replied easily, "get a little lev-" Before he could finish his sentence, a scream echoed down the hall, accompanied by an almighty crash; one that tore through the quiet atmosphere of the hospital.

When the pair rushed forward to investigate, they were met with chaos.

**Note****:** Sooooooo, long time no see. Anyway, about the timeline... Parker spent two days in the hospital before the people there managed to track down a contact for her, the contact being Nate. The team spent two days at the hospital, one waiting to hear about the results of her surgery, and the other just waiting for her to wake up. On the night of the fourth day, Hardison and Eliot went to track down Grant, which they succeeded in doing, unfortunately. We're now in the early morning hours of the fifth day. Hardison is at the apartment above the bar, and the others are at the hospital. So, yeah, sorry about the year-long delay. I'm going to try to do better, I promise. Next chapter things are going to be a little difference; you guys are going to get a look at how things are going on the other side of the fence.

*Beth Riesgraf actually has 8 years on Aldis Hodge. She's 33, and he's 25.


End file.
